Luna Basswood's Arc

Chapter 4 of 14

Luna carried the sealed fish back to the practice space before dawn. The seam held. Her whisper-line worked. But when she ran the audition set in her head, she heard the problem. She was playing soft. Nobody was playing under her. Her corner would sound thin. Judges lean in for a hook, not for a hum that isn't there. She needed a low end. Another bass to sit under her quiet notes and give the corner weight. She had hours. She found the blonde bass player by the coffee cart, bass slung on her hip, thumb hooked in her belt. Luna made herself speak first. "I need a floor under me. Low root notes. Just for the audition." The blonde looked at the fish, then at Luna's face. "You want me to prop up the girl taking my slot." "I want a trade." "I don't trade." She sipped her coffee. "But I'll watch you ask someone else and fail. That's free." Luna walked. She found the black-haired drummer behind the stalls, sticks spinning between her fingers, kick pedal balanced on a crate. The drummer had helped Luna once, told her the fish was too hollow. Luna owed her already. "I need a low end for the audition," Luna said. "You know a bass who'll sit under a whisper." The drummer stopped the sticks. "Whisper bass wants a whisper partner. Try the red-haired singer. She plays baritone when she's bored. She was bored last night." Luna found the red-haired singer tuning a dark guitar against a fence post. The singer had watched Luna hit her locked-in tone two days back and nodded once, which was more than most. "I need a floor," Luna said. "Root notes, low, under my quiet parts. One audition. I can't pay you." The singer plucked a low string. It rolled through Luna's boots. "What do I get." "My corner. If I make headliner, you open for me." The singer laughed once. "You don't have a corner yet." "I will in an hour." The singer looked at the fish. She looked at Luna. She unslung the baritone and rested it across her knee. "One run-through. If it locks, I'm in." They found a shed behind the field. Luna turned her amp to a whisper. The singer thumbed a low E and held it. Luna walked her line over the top. The low note filled the floor. Luna's whisper rode it like a hand on a rail. The corner had weight now. It had a bottom. The singer lifted her thumb. "Locked." A runner stuck his head in the shed door. "Basswood. Ten minutes. Main stage." Luna's stomach dropped. The singer stood and slung the baritone. "Ten minutes is ten minutes. Walk." Luna walked. She had a sealed bass, a quiet hook, and a floor under her now. She also had a partner who could pull the corner out from under her the second the set ended.